I remember traveling to my parents house by train many years ago. I had a ticket for a second-class carriage and was assigned the upper bunkthough it didnt bother me in the slightest. Two ladies occupied the lower berths. I lingered below for a moment, hoping to catch the attention of the conductor, but one of the women immediately protested as I climbed up.
Later, I fancied a bit of supper, but the women denied me access to the table. They had deliberately taken seats on either side and sat quietly sipping their tea, guarding their space.
Would you mind if I had a quick nibble? I ventured.
Young man, your tickets for the upper bunk, isnt it? Saved a bit, did you? You can dine up there! We certainly dont want the aroma of your meal after were set to rest. Wed very much like some peace, one of them replied curtly.
It dawned on me they would not yield. I settled in, made my bed, and climbed up with my pot of instant noodles. Just as I began to eat, the train jolted, sending my dinner cascading down to the lower berth.
The noodles went everywhereeven into the elegant hair of the lady below. Strands of pasta covered the compartment; I could scarcely decide whether to laugh or weep.
Young man, havent you eaten on a train before? Is this your first journey? Its dreadful! the lady exclaimed.
I swear, it wasnt intentional! I protested, gingerly extricating noodles from her curls.
That night, the entire carriage smelled persistently of instant noodles. Even the porters avoided the woman. She wished she could wash, but the train was ordinaryno luxuries here.
Despite my hunger lingering from the smell, I slept soundly. What else could I have expected, really? They brought it upon themselves, after all.
